


Lessons in Mnemonics

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, Chan, Dark, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Second War with Voldemort, The Quidditch Pitch: The Dungeon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-10-02
Updated: 2007-10-02
Packaged: 2018-10-27 10:48:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10807554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: Mnemonic devices are formulas or rhymes used to memorise important facts and help improve memory. Some formulas are more unorthodox than others.





	Lessons in Mnemonics

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** Written for the September 2007 Daily_Deviant.

_The boy stood outside the office door, throat dry and his stomach filled with the shivery sort of dread he always felt whenever he had to serve a detention. Taking cold comfort from the fact that his Head of House was unable to oversee the detention himself, he lifted a hand and gave a timorous knock._

“Enter,” Professor Lupin replied, the word muffled by the wooden door separating them. Neville pushed it open and stepped into the room, the fluttering dread in his stomach increasing. “Close the door behind you.”

He obeyed, standing and trying not to fidget. Professor Lupin didn’t look up from the parchment he was marking, dipping his quill into a pot of red ink. Neville could hear the scratching sound the quill made as he wrote. He cleared his throat nervously, staring down at the carpet and scuffing his toe along one of the patterns woven there.

“Well, Mr Longbottom.” Neville jumped, caught unawares, looking up to find Professor Lupin had cleared his desk. He leaned forward in his chair, hands clasped loosely before him. “I can’t say it’s a pleasure to see you, under these circumstances.”

“No, sir,” Neville whispered.

“You realise the severity of your transgression, I assume.” The professor rose from his seat, coming around the desk to stand before him. “Your foolishness endangered the entire school. What possessed you to write down the week’s passwords, Neville?”

Still studying the carpet, Neville mumbled, “I forget things, sir. I write them down to help remember. I – I never told anyone about it; I kept it in my bookbag…I don’t know how it got stolen!”

Professor Lupin sighed. “The fact is, it _did_ happen, and the school has been forced to adopt security measures because of your forgetfulness. Ron Weasley could have died the night Sirius Black broke into your dorm.”

“I know,” Neville said miserably. He still felt terrible about that. He could only imagine how much more terrible he’d feel if Ron, or Harry, or any of the other boys had been knifed to death in their beds. He liked Ron, despite the occasional disparaging remark. He glanced up from his perusal of the carpet. “Am I to do lines? Maybe clean the grindylow tank?” He hoped not; the grindylows frightened him.

“No,” Professor Lupin replied, and Neville felt a moment’s relief until he spoke again, adding, “I believe the situation calls for something more…hands on.”

“Sir?”

Professor Lupin’s lips twitched upon seeing Neville’s confusion. “A variation of the mnemonic device, as it were. Have you ever heard of mnemonic devices, Neville?”

He shook his head, mystified, and the professor’s lips twitched again into a bleak smile.

“A mnemonic device is a formula or rhyme used to memorise important facts and help improve memory,” he explained. “For example, ‘King Philip cuts open five green snakes’ helped me more times than I remember in Herbology when I was a student. The first letter of each word in the phrase stood for Kingdom, Phylum, Class, Order, Family, Genus and Species, so I could remember the names of certain plants, particularly during tests. Do you see? The memory of one jars the ability to remember other things.”

Neville paused, thinking, before nodding slowly. “I – I think I understand.” He looked up into the professor’s face. “We’re going to study mnemonic devices tonight?”

“In a manner of speaking.” Professor Lupin straightened, brushing his hands together. “For you, I think the best thing is to create one overriding memory, in hopes of helping you to remember others from now on. All you’ll have to do is remember tonight, and I think the proper motivation will exist to recall facts and other things like passwords.”

Neville wasn’t sure he liked the direction the subject had taken, but nodded anyway. This was supposed to be a detention, after all. He wasn’t _supposed_ to like it. “Wh-what do you want me to do?”

Professor Lupin stepped back, indicating the desk. “No time like the present, eh? I’d like for you to bend over that desk, Mr Longbottom, and grab onto the opposite side.”

A spanking, then. Neville’s stomach lurched in incipient dread, unsure of how that was going to help. He’d been spanked loads of times by his Gran or his Great-Uncle Algie both; and he still had a memory like Swiss cheese. Heaving a sigh that seemed to come all the way from his toes, Neville forced himself to take the two necessary steps toward the desk and bent over, hands grasping the opposite edge as instructed.

He startled as warm hands curved around his waist and Professor Lupin murmured into his ear, “Spread your legs, Neville. You need to widen your stance.”

He obeyed, his anxiety over what was to come tightening his belly into a dull knot. He stared at his fingers, already curled around the edge of the desk so that the knuckles showed white, and forced himself to loosen his grasp. He didn’t need to hang on for dear life just yet.

Professor Lupin spoke a single word, and Neville gasped in real fear as thin ropes wrapped around his wrists and his ankles, securing him to the desk. He tugged at his wrists, but the bonds held firm. He whimpered, feeling tears prickle behind his eyes. Clearly, this wasn’t to be an ordinary spanking.

He whimpered again as he felt the back of his robes lift. The Dark Arts professor finished bunching the black material under Neville’s stomach, giving him a small cushion from the desk edge cutting into the soft skin…and then his hands went to Neville’s trousers, undoing them with brisk efficiency before tugging them and his pants down nearly to his knees, exposing his round bum and the backs of his thighs to the professor’s gaze. Neville’s face reddened, and he squeezed his eyes shut, too embarrassed to see Professor Lupin’s expression. He felt one hand at the small of his back, pressing down, holding him in place as surely as the ropes binding him to the desk.

“Brace yourself,” Professor Lupin said, his voice strangely thick. It was the only warning Neville had before the first blow descended, cracking smartly across his left buttock. It was followed by a second stinging smack on the opposite side, and then the spanking began in earnest.

The professor had a strong arm, and apparently didn’t believe in holding back. Neville’s eyes were welling by the tenth swat; by the fifteenth the tears were falling freely; and by the twenty-fifth hard smack the first choked sob broke loose. His backside quickly progressed from stinging, to burning, to searing as the blows continued to fall in a rapid, steady rhythm, the harder swats rocking Neville onto his toes. He was vaguely grateful for the robes bunched beneath him, cushioning him somewhat when the blows drove him against the edge of the desk, but the pain radiating from his bottom soon overcame any other thought.

The punishing smacks continued, raining over both cheeks, the tops of his thighs, and the tender crease separating the two. More blows descended across the backs of his legs; even the inside of his thighs weren’t exempt. Neville thrashed and wriggled against the ropes binding his wrists and ankles, but all his struggles seemed to accomplish was to lift his sizzling bottom in invitation for more swats, an invitation Professor Lupin seemed only too happy to accept. The room echoed with the repeated cracking sound of flesh slapping against flesh and Neville’s increasingly louder sobs as the minutes passed and the spanking seemed to go on and on without an end in sight.

The thought that it _could_ go on all night or until Professor Lupin’s arm wore out, whichever came first, was too much for Neville to contemplate or bear; and he dissolved into uncontrolled weeping, tears streaming down his face to drip onto the desk, his loud sobs interspersed with broken words. “I’m… _ow!_ …I’m sorry… _OW!_ …Professor, _please_ …please… _oww_ …” His bottom felt blistered, charbroiled. He could only imagine what it looked like.

It took a moment to realise that the spanking had ended, he was crying so hard; but eventually Neville became aware that the fingers on his bottom, instead of bringing further pain, were softly caressing the heated skin. He pressed his forehead against the desk with a small moan at the sensation, so gentle after the previous assault.

“You redden beautifully,” Professor Lupin murmured, still in that strangely thick voice.

Neville didn’t know how to reply to such a strange statement. He _did_ however, give a startled yelp when one of those fingers slid between his sore arsecheeks to tease at his tight puckered hole before pressing inexorably inside. Neville cried out in shock and surprise at the invasion, unable to pull away or retreat or close his legs. The finger sawed in and out, hot and dry and burning; and Neville could only bite his lip, fresh tears rising to his eyes, and let it happen.

“You won’t forget the password again, will you?” Professor Lupin asked, still thrusting his finger into Neville. “I imagine you won’t forget much of anything after this evening. Won’t you, Neville?” The finger jabbed in deeper.

“N-no,” Neville choked out as the finger brushed against something inside of him that made him catch his breath as a wholly unexpected pleasure suddenly tingled through him. It was all he could do not to ask the professor to do it again, because it felt so good after everything that had gone before. “I’ll do better, I promise, oh please…” He moaned helplessly as the finger slid over the spot again, discovering to his horror that his penis, which had lately begun behaving in unpredictable and often uncomfortable ways, had chosen this worst of times to harden. He forced himself to stillness, hoping his reaction would go unnoticed and Professor Lupin would let him go soon so he could take care of it in a manner he’d recently discovered.

Luck failed him; the hand still pressed to Neville’s lower back slid down around one hip, finding and gripping his pubescent erection. He flinched, wanting to die from embarrassment and shame, especially when Professor Lupin began stroking it, hand moving up and down with a sure familiarity that let Neville know without words he wasn’t the only one who’d discovered what touching _down there_ could do. Even worse, he found himself pushing into his professor’s encircling hand, wanting more of the pleasure it brought because it made the blazing fire in his arse seem far away.

“Please…” he whimpered.

“Please, stop?” Professor Lupin asked, still stroking Neville’s cock, “or please, no?” The finger in his arse resumed thrusting into him, and Neville shuddered at the combination of the scorching pain emanating from his reddened backside and the waves of pleasure surging through him. “Naughty Neville, naughty boy, you’re enjoying this, aren’t you? Should I put a second finger inside you? Perhaps you’d like something else to fill you, take your mind away from your hot, red buttocks?”

Neville shook his head. The finger stroking inside him no longer burned, but he didn’t want another one in there, much less anything else. _Don’t stop touching me_ there, _don’t put another finger or anything else in me_ , he wanted to say, but the words wouldn’t come. “Please…” he whispered. “It’s too much…I c-c-can’t…”

The hand around him and the finger inside him moved faster, harder, reducing Neville to babbling incoherency, the sensation surging through him increasing in intensity. He felt his balls contract just before he stiffened, arching as much as his bonds allowed, and came with a shuddering groan, his scanty ejaculate dampening Professor Lupin’s hand. The stroking didn’t stop, coaxing every drop, wringing every twitch and jerk from Neville’s body.

Gasping for breath, he collapsed against the desk, making a small noise when the finger inside of him brushed one last time against that glorious spot before withdrawing. He heard Professor Lupin whisper a spell dispelling the ropes around his wrists and ankles. Neville slid bonelessly to his knees, careful of his backside which, now that the pleasure was gone, had reasserted its painful presence in his mind.

Rubbing his wrists, Neville climbed back onto his feet, concentrating on pulling his clothing back into place, struggling against further tears. He couldn’t understand why he wanted to cry; the spanking was over, and what had happened after had felt good, in a twisty, guilty kind of way. He didn’t look at Professor Lupin, who was back behind the desk, his breathing heavy.

“We won’t be forgetting anything anytime soon, will we, Mr Longbottom?” he asked.

“No, sir.” Neville didn’t think he’d ever forget tonight as long as he lived. “I won’t, sir.”

“Then this detention is at an end. You can go back to Gryffindor Tower. Oh, and Neville?”

“Yes, sir?” Neville peered up at him through his lashes, suddenly unwilling to look at him directly.

“I hope you’re right. If I ever discover you’ve been so dangerously absentminded again, the spanking you’ll receive will make tonight seem gentle in comparison.”

Terror seized Neville, and he swallowed hard. “Yes, sir. It won’t happen again, sir. Good night, sir.”

He turned toward the door, rubbing his throbbing arse. He hoped Percy or one of the other prefects would be waiting for him with the password so he could return to the Gryffindor common room.

_“Professor?” The boy asked after several moments of silence._

Neville blinked and looked up, torn from reverie. “Oh, Teddy. You’re here for your detention, if I’m not mistaken. This is, what, the third time you’ve forgotten to secure the Venomous Tentacula so they can’t attack the next class?”

Teddy Lupin shuffled his feet. “Yes, sir. It…it keeps slipping my mind. I’m sorry!”

Neville rose from behind his desk. “Then we need to give you something to help you remember. Bend over the desk and grab the far edge, Teddy, while I teach you something about mnemonics. Have you ever heard of them?”  


* * *


End file.
